


When the Cowl is Down

by allofthefandoms



Category: Captain America (2011), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, D/s, M/M, Safewords, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthefandoms/pseuds/allofthefandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain America is here to punish him, but Steve knows just how hard he can push, knows the thrill Bucky gets when the others watch, knows that this is how he gets his release, and that is what keeps Bucky obediently on his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Cowl is Down

**Author's Note:**

> To Kathor, my self-professed fic midwife. She is responsible for the grammatical correctness, the perfect safewords and general awesomeness of this fic. She looked at it not once, but twice, and I owe her my undying thanks.

When the cowl is down, he is Captain America. Bucky knows that, even when he is naked before the whole unit. Captain America is here to punish him, but Steve knows just how hard he can push, knows the thrill Bucky gets when the others watch, knows that this is how he gets his release, and that is what keeps Bucky obediently on his knees.

“If you are determined to act like a child, Lieutenant Barnes, I will treat you like one.” Bucky hates and loves the way that voice goes straight to his cock, like it belongs there, all cool command and strict discipline. The gauntleted hand, heavy and just the right amount of hurtful, grabs Bucky by the shoulder. He is wrenched to his knees, forced to kneel on the ground. The hard hand shifts, latching onto the nape of his neck, and Bucky is off balance, falling. His hands scrabble in the dirt at Captain America’s feet, but he manages to stop his fall, though his palms are scraped raw. He can already feel the finger-shaped bruises forming where his Captain has grabbed him. But Bucky is secretly pleased, because he knows Steve will be extra tender tomorrow, will press whispered apologies to every mark and cut, sending shivers of a totally different kind down Bucky's spine. But that is tomorrow. Today, his Captain has fisted his hand in Bucky's hair, demanding that he look up from his position on his knees. For a moment, Bucky thinks about disobeying, but there is an unexpected urgency to the way the fingers twist and tug that changes his mind. The eyes that greet him are all Steve, leaving a flush of happy warmth deep in Bucky's chest.

“White,” Bucky whispers. White is one of their safe words; it means I’m safe, please continue. When it falls from Bucky’s lips, Steve’s warm gaze is gone, replaced by the steely eyes of the man that cocks his head back so far that his neck already aches. Steve is holding him right at his knees and Bucky has to look up a lot to meet his eyes. Just when the strain is almost too much, and Bucky is on the verge of crying out ‘blue’—the word that will tell his Captain to stand down, to ease off—he is released. Bucky would have toppled face forward into the dirt, but strong hands clasp his shoulders, steadying him. As soon as Bucky regains his balance, he locks adoring eyes with the man who holds his heart and his body.

“You will turn around,” his Captain says. “And you will count aloud. Do you understand, soldier?”

“Yes, sir.” Bucky feels the noise in his head begin to ease off, the first taste of the unraveling of self only his Captain can provide. Behind him, he hears the creak of a single glove coming off, and the smack of a leather-clad knee hitting the ground. There is a long pause, and the first blow, high on Bucky's lower back, almost catches him by surprise. He wants to obey, to please, but the first number is little more than a choking cough.

“I said count, Barnes, not cry.” The next three slaps are short and sharp, striking the same place on Bucky's right ass cheek. It was the first domino that sent him falling under. Bucky's focus narrows from war and death and command to slaps and stings and numbers. The hand against his skin is open, all the better to leave fully formed hand prints of red, rather than true bruising, a feat Bucky knows is all too possible. Bucky swiftly surrenders to the burn, and the rhythm his Captain falls into is a steady, comforting ache versus true pain. Five, ten, twenty slaps mount up, one after the other, and then on the thirtieth there is an unexpected rake of neatly trimmed nails over heated, tingling skin. Bucky wasn't sure if he wanted to scream or come in the wake of Steve’s touch. He almost slips to the ground, but there is a warm, wide hand supporting him, and he stays crouched. A hand ghosts over his face, and he blindly rubs against it, craving the contact of skin on skin. His Captain lingers, tracing his jawline, pressing against Bucky's stuttering pulse with two steady fingers.

“Good, soldier.” Bucky knows he isn’t imagining the fondness in his Captain's voice, or in the soft stroke of his thumb across Bucky's stomach. 

For a moment, Bucky’s world consists solely of the hand that caresses his belly, the fingertips that drift upward and lightly pinch his nipples. But there are sounds that almost bring Bucky out of his reverie: The slap of other hands on cocks. When he looks up, Bucky senses the ring of tough men that surround him, but it is Morita's blown gaze that he meets and holds. There is something in the frank desire that makes all of Bucky's fears—They are seeing me like this, aren't they?—fall to the back of his mind. And when Morita comes, Bucky's name on his flushed lips, Bucky feels a beautiful spike of belonging, of knowing he is wanted in the simplest and most complex ways, and it is this sense of belonging that makes Bucky come and come, harder than he’s ever remembered.

As Bucky mentally swims back to the surface of his ordinary life, he notices that his Captain's hands have become Steve's, and that there is a soft cloth rubbing the sweat and come from his stomach.

“Oh God, Bucky.” There is a wonder in Steve's voice that makes Bucky shudder with amazement. “You are so beautiful.” There are soft light kisses over marks and bruises, and Bucky turns into the warm solid comfort of Steve, safe in the knowledge that now he can. Steve lifts him up easily, careful to cradle him in such a way that none of the welts brush painfully against skin. Steve ducks into a small tent where the others have gathered, a steaming bucket of water sitting in the middle of their loose circle. Bucky tenses, and Steve’s expression makes it clear he’s well aware of Bucky’s anxiety. Evidently, it’s not just Steve who is in the know, as shown when Morita says softly, “If you want, we’ll leave. I know you value this time.”

“But we want to take care of you,” came Dugan's low rumble. “Both of you . . . if you’ll let us.” Bucky is set down ever so gently on the low cot, Steve sitting beside him.

“You with me, Buck? No one will take offense if you say no.” Steve's eyes are slightly concerned, and take in Bucky's shivering with a small smile.

“I guess. I'm just. . . .” Morita's face, twisted by orgasm, rose unbidden into Bucky's thoughts, the look of love and desire, catching him by surprise all over again. Steve's hand, running gentle circles across his shaking back, is a steady grounder.

“It's okay, Buck. You're just coming up,” Steve said softly, the motion of his hand unwavering. “We've got you.” Bucky looks up at the team around him, face tacky with tears. He is met with nothing but caring and soft understanding. Dernier sat beside him, a warm wash cloth in his hand.

“Mon ami,” he said softly. “Let us look after you.”

What Bucky remembered after was warmth. Warm hands soothing sore skin with Vaseline, warm cloths cleaning his body and face, warm words and warmer touches. Afterwords, he is tucked into the cot between the warm sheets, stinging skin giving way to soul deep calm. One by one, the others trail out, leaving lingering warm touches and small smiles. Morita bends over and presses a light kiss to Bucky's forehead before silently slipping out. Soon, it is just Steve and Bucky.

“Was it good?” Steve asks, curling around Bucky while being mindful of his injuries.

“It was perfect.”


End file.
